Poetry Archives

Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
  In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles,
  And the ocean loves to wander.

Fragrant the vines that mantle those hills,
  Proudly the fig rejoices;
Merrily dance the virgin rills,
  Blending their myriad voices.

Our herds shall fear no evil there,
  But peacefully feed and rest them;
Neither shall serpent nor prowling bear
  Ever come there to molest them.

Neither shall Eurus, wanton bold,
  Nor feverish drouth distress us,
But he that compasseth heat and cold
  Shall temper them both to bless us.

There no vandal foot has trod,
  And the pirate hosts that wander
Shall never profane the sacred sod
  Of those beautiful Isles out yonder.

Never a spell shall blight our vines,
  Nor Sirius blaze above us,
But you and I shall drink our wines
  And sing to the loved that love us.

So come with me where Fortune smiles
  And the gods invite devotion,—
Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
  In the haze of that far-off ocean!